


Out Go the Lights

by SubwayWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anonymity, Come Eating, Costumes and Disguises, Drunkenness, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Gift Exchange, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Knifeplay, Public Hand Jobs, Smoking, Theon in a Sexy Sailor Costume, Vague Throbb, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late one Halloween night, with everyone costumed and disguised, Theon discovers that anonymity isn't hard to find. But it is hard to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Go the Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoubleBit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleBit/gifts).



> My prompt was simple: "Trick-or-treat and disguises". I took the idea of disguises/anonymity and ran with it. To whomever this prompt belongs, I hope you enjoy!

The idea of anonymity not only enthralled Theon; it relieved him. He was sick of blacking out after drunken hookups and awakening to the sight of a stranger or the face of someone he did not want to see beside him. If neither he nor his partner for the evening knew the identity of whose balls they were fondling, that problem would be easily avoided. So he sought out anonymity. And on Halloween, that was easy. 

Everyone was disguised. Theon dressed up as a Sexy Sailor for the fifth year in a row. He had a certain standard to maintain. At the Stark house, where a party was held annually on this holiday, it was expected of him. Ned and Cat never allowed Robb to serve booze at his parties but the Lannister twins always found a way to get some in the doors. Theon was always one of the first to take advantage of this opportunity, and soon it became well understood of him to get drunk and obnoxious. Last year, Theon had somehow obtained a shopping cart, carried it to the top of the Starks’ staircase, hopped inside, and rode it down the stairs to the cheering and chanting of the entire assembly of drunk guests. At least that’s how a very angry Robb Stark explained it to him the following afternoon. And Robb never lied, especially not when he was angry.

This year, Theon decided to get drunk. Only drunk. No shopping carts. He could find other ways to have fun, ways that didn’t get himself driven by Ned Stark to the emergency room. 

He began searching. The Starks had a fairly large home to house their absurdly large family, and it fit many guests. It fit the entire senior class along with a mass of graduates, drop-outs, and underclassmen alike. He stumbled around, searching for the perfect candidate. Everyone who was masked or face-painted was recognizable by their hair or facial features or annoying voices. It was the light, giving away their identities. Theon knew darkness was the ultimate disguise. So he went outside. 

It was desolate outside. And cold. The streets were empty. Trick-or-treaters had gone inside hours earlier, and the wind was too frigid for the attendees of the Stark party to celebrate outside. Theon made his way down the front steps of the house and halfway down the driveway when he smelled smoke, dull and dismal, lingering in the air on the left side of the house. Theon followed the scent, lazily shuffling his feet as he moved.

A dark, hooded figure was leaning against the house, undistinguishable aside from a lit cigarette dimly illuminating his face and forming black, oblong shadows that still managed to conceal his identity. Though he was not masked or in costume, he was clad in black from head to toe and had a fog of evilness about him that likely was not seasonal.

Theon was drawn in by the eeriness of the person at the side of the house. “Hey you,” he slurred across the lawn. The man did not respond, turn his head, or even flinch. Theon pursued nonetheless. “I’m looking to have some fun.” He sounded stupid saying it now – it had sounded much better in his head. He knew the drunkenness and Sexy Sailor costume must have given him false pride.

The only reaction the mysterious man offered was to drag on his cigarette, blow the smoke out of his nose, and twist his shaded face into a strange smile. Naturally, Theon took that as a yes.  
Before he knew it, he was being consumed. The smoker’s lips were upon his own, warm and forceful, bitter-tasting and wet. He was not a very good kisser. Theon, despite the decline in judgment and coordination, still retained his talent. Anonymity certainly made the situation much more exhilarating. The uneasiness in the back of his brain enhanced the experience. The fear made him love it even more. 

The stranger put hands on Theon’s waist, positioning him the way he wanted. When they moved apart for brief moments for air, hot breath was blown on Theon’s neck, drawing him closer. Closing his eyes aided the anonymity and mysteriousness. The other man had yet to speak a word, and Theon honestly would have preferred it if he never spoke at all. Questions swarmed through his mind but they were never answered. He focused on the task at hand, dizzy from contact and alcohol, losing balance and feeling nauseous. 

And all of a sudden, Theon knew. 

The realization came quickly, but in pieces stacked atop one another. It started to smell like Ramsay Bolton, like coppery blood and musky cigarettes, and Theon knew. The anonymity had vanished. The disguises were useless. Those hands began to feel clammy and heavy instead of deft and light. The breaths on his neck was stinky and heavy, not soft and playful. The moon shone through the clouds for half of a heartbeat and Theon briefly saw eyes flicker up to his, matching the color of that moonlight, which hid itself again. Theon knew.

He hated being kissed by Ramsay. His mouth turned sour. He wrenched his head away and said, “Stop.” The hands on his waist did not move. “I changed my mind. Stop.” 

“You changed your mind?” repeated an incredulous voice definitely, unmistakably belonging to Ramsay Bolton. Those impossibly strong hands which undoubtedly belonged to him as well reached up and found Theon’s neck. “Not an option.”

Theon was in no state to fight back. Time slowed with his drunken dizziness and hot acid built up at the back of his throat. He could not find the strength to writhe away or the dexterity to wrestle Ramsay off. At the same time, he was in no mood to play Ramsay’s game, and he was certainly not the type of person to submit so easily. “Fuck you,” he said through his teeth, dizziness swimming behind his eyes. “Get the fuck off of me.”

Ramsay carried a knife. Everyone knew that. Somehow, even in darkness, Theon knew that it was out, moments before it pressed against the skin of his neck. “Don’t you dare move, boy,” he said in a low voice. 

Unsurprisingly, Theon was too stupid to listen. “Don’t call me that,” he whined. He fidgeted and felt his skin being sliced across the diameter of an artery in his neck. The cut was shallow but it started to bleed as soon as it was made.

“Whoops,” Ramsay said. As greasy and stupid as he was, Ramsay was not careless, especially not with his knife. The prick was no accident, but it was also not deadly.

“Fuck,” Theon hissed. “You fucking madman!” A flash of heat ran through him and rushed to his face and his beating heart pumped blood out of his neck. The pain of the cut was not much, but blood flowed out of it at a pace Theon had never experienced before. The cut was small, but in the wrong place, so it bled rapidly. He was feeling dizzy, perhaps from the blood loss, or perhaps from the smell of it. Most likely, it was the drinks taking their toll at the worst possible time. Bitterly, he wondered if he was going to die. Here, at the Stark house, and on fucking Halloween? Typical.

Alarmingly, Ramsay was drawn to the sight and smell of the blood. With a sigh, he tilted his head and angled his nose upwards. Theon started to think about sharks and the deep ocean nature programs he saw on television, and he hated the irony of it. Ramsay leaned in and put his mouth to Theon’s bleeding neck, letting his tongue out to slowly, carefully lap up the blood leaking out there. 

Theon was startled. He was helpless to resist as Ramsay’s grip on his neck shifted, turning Theon’s head to the side to give himself more room to work. At this point, Theon was growing too dizzy to stand. If it weren’t for one of Ramsay’s thighs pressed between his legs, he may have fallen to his ass in the dirt. 

Weakly, Theon pressed his hands against Ramsay’s chest in a futile attempt to push him away. When Ramsay’s wet lips pulled away from the skin of Theon’s flesh, Bolton smiled for half of a second and Theon could see through the darkness a dull shade of red on his teeth. Theon was so encapsulated by the sight of it that he didn’t notice the straps of his suspenders being unfastened or the drawstring of his pants being untied until it had already been done.

Ramsay pressed his weight against Theon, pushing him against the white siding of the Stark house. With both hands free, he put his knife away somewhere Theon could not discern in the darkness. He then unzipped his jeans. 

Theon, of course, was not wearing underwear, but Ramsay probably wasn’t either. When Ramsay grabbed both of their cocks at once, Theon grimaced. Ramsay’s hands were clammy, clumsy, and purposefully not gentle. Ramsay was already hard, probably from the scent of the blood or from Theon’s reluctance, or both.

Bucking his hips backwards, Theon succeeded in doing nothing besides slamming his own body against the side of the house, and came no closer to escaping. Theon brought two hands up to Ramsay’s shoulders. He gave all his effort to push the larger man away, but no luck. Ramsay was much stronger than he looked, and heavier, and sturdier. “Fucking...” Theon’s head was throbbing. He was becoming excessively dizzy. “Off, damn you.” 

Characteristically, Ramsay was not listening. He began to erratically tug on the cocks in his hand, rapidly and without any intention of pleasing anyone other than himself. 

Theon whined. At his back, the Stark house thumped and pounded with muffled bass beats, deaf to what was happening outside its walls. He brought a palm up to the wound on his neck, which, worryingly, was still bleeding. His other hand was placed on Ramsay’s broad and heaving chest. Theon did not have the strength to resist. His head was spinning, swimming. His stomach turned and grumbled with a dull sensation of pain. Shame overwhelmed him. He was powerless and defenseless, and his pants were around his ankles. White breath escaped from his parted lips as acid crept up the back of his throat.

The dogs began to bark. It was only one at first, probably Shaggy, who barked at everything, but soon all of them joined in. They were riled up, barking obnoxiously loud and scratching on the wood of the backyard fencing. They must have heard the disgusting noises Ramsay was making, or perhaps they could smell the sex or the fear or the blood. Theon’s eyes rolled up until he was staring the moon in the face. He was grateful. Ramsay was tugging on his limp cock, and Theon was fucking grateful that those annoying dogs were making a ruckus. 

Suddenly, his stomach muscles tightened and then loosened. Theon turned his head to the side and heaved, spilling his stomach’s contents to the grass. The liquid burned the back of his throat and its stink sent hot fumes up his nostrils. Theon groaned when he was finished. The sour taste it left on his tongue turned his breath rancid and nearly made him sick up again. Long, elastic, bitter-tasting saliva trailed down his lips and chin. He spit, and then spit again, but the putrid taste was inescapable. 

Incredibly, Ramsay was not deterred at all. Theon wondered if he had even noticed. Ramsay began to stink of sweat, and his breathing turned heavy. Theon listened to the baying of the hounds, and endured.

Robb flashed into Theon’s mind, and then the image consumed him. Where was Robb? Robb was inside, wearing his cowboy hat and boots and his sheriff pin gleaming proudly on his jean jacket. Robb had no idea what was happening to Theon, none at all. Theon shuddered. He wished Robb was there, outside on the side of his house, but he wasn’t, he wasn’t. Would Robb come to the rescue? Would he hear the troubled calls of his dogs and venture outside to see what they were fussing about? He wouldn’t. It was Halloween. If the dogs were spooked, it was understandable. Robb wouldn’t check. He wouldn’t come to the rescue. Robb was inside the house, and safe. Theon was alone.

Except he wasn’t. Ramsay was there, and it was a miracle he hadn’t yet sliced the rest of Theon’s throat. That threat may have put more fear and unease into Theon than the rape did. 

Ramsay finished uneventfully. If Theon’s eyes had not adjusted to the darkness, he could never have seen Ramsay’s hips buck or his lips part or his stomach muscles contract. Theon was starting to ache where Ramsay was touching him, so it was a relief when Ramsay finished, lost interest in Theon, and released him. The dogs continued to bay and pound on the fencing, almost as powerless as Theon himself.

Then Ramsay brought his fingers to Theon’s mouth and pressed them inside, past his lips and teeth and into his throat, filling him with cum, still warm. Theon gagged but Ramsay’s thick, sweaty fingers went deeper. The dull, pasty taste of Ramsay’s seed made Theon’s mouth twist and his eyes squint. He forced himself to swallow, fighting every urge to bite down on Ramsay’s fingers, fighting every urge to cry out.

Ramsay dressed himself. This is what he had wanted. Theon wondered if it was what they had both wanted, but he wasn’t sure. He turned and leaned against the siding of the Stark house, pressing his cheek against the white vinyl. The blood was no longer flowing, but it stayed stagnant, sticky, and warm over the side of his neck. Though his stomach no longer ached, his head still did. He could see Ramsay lighting a cigarette, balancing it masterfully between his lips. Musky smoke filled the air moments later. A distinguishable scent. Theon wished he had noticed.

As it turns out, anonymity was not an advantage, it was a mistake. A bitter-tasting one. Ramsay left him there. The dogs continued to bark, and no one heard them.


End file.
